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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29212461">Hope Grows</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guilty_Pleasuress/pseuds/Guilty_Pleasuress'>Guilty_Pleasuress</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Almost Home [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bonding, Gen, Homeless Tommy, Homelessness, Im new to this fandom pls dont hurt me, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, No beta we die like ... thems, Self-Doubt, Streamer Wilbur, Touch-Starved, Wilbur sees Tommy on the street and decides to adopt him, mentioned violence against children, orphan Tommy, shippers fuck off, worried wilbur</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:28:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,512</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29212461</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guilty_Pleasuress/pseuds/Guilty_Pleasuress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy ran away from his last foster home. Wilbur sees a child across the street and decides to take care of him... That's it (CW for mentioned child abuse)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Almost Home [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161335</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>998</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Boy on the Street</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Heya? So... Idk honestly, I started writing this at mid-night last night and just (kinda) finished it. There's defo room for more if anyone's interested, but I figured I'd post this part now since its at a good stopping place. Anyway, I'm new to this fandom so pls excuse me if i get any of the details wrong :)<br/>Enjoy!<br/>Disclaimer: This story is obviously about real people and while it contains no shipping of any sort, if any of the people mentioned express discomfort with themselves being portrayed in this way I <em>will</em> take this down. Also leave Tommy alone.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy honestly didn’t know how long he’d been out on the street. He knew it was early July when he’d ran after a particularly rough ‘party’ his foster parents had thrown. If he were to guess by the weather, he’d say it was now late August at the earliest, maybe September. He didn’t like to think about it. He preferred not to know how long he’d been on the streets with no one to come looking for him.<br/>
</p>
<p>Not that he was surprised, foster kids slipped through the system all the time, forgotten or straight up ignored. Still, he’d expected to see his social worker’s face, he still watched the passers by carefully for the familiar easy — but fake — smile, and kind eyes that had seen too many kids fail time after time. The poor guy had seen Tommy alone fail with enough families to give up hope on him entirely, maybe that’s why he hadn’t come looking yet.<br/>
</p>
<p>Tommy sighed and drew his knees up to his chest, trying to bring more heat into his body.<br/>
</p>
<p>He hadn’t thought to bring warm clothes when he’d run, not that he really had any anyway, and the red and white t-shirt he was wearing did little to keep out the cold. He honestly wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through the week, let alone the whole of winter. He’d dropped at least ten pounds and had already been underweight at his last placement, he was sure he looked sickly — maybe even on the verge of death — but at least it got him more spare change from passing strangers.<br/>
</p>
<p>He shivered as a breeze blew through the empty streets, the sun would be going down soon, he should find an ally or something more protected against the wind, but he didn’t want to move. Lately a heavy tiredness had set into his bones and just getting up felt like a lot of work.<br/>
</p>
<p>A door swung shut across the street and Tommy jumped. He felt eyes on him and kept his own gaze down as the lazy, meandering footsteps drew near. The person stopped in front of him, but all Tommy allowed himself to see were the person’s heavy leather boots. They looked expensive but old and well worn. The person cleared their throat.<br/>
</p>
<p>“What do you want.” Tommy ordered more than asked, his voice rough. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken.<br/>
</p>
<p>“It’s supposed to be cold tonight.” The man, Tommy assumed, had a posh voice, Brighton raised if Tommy were to guess. Tommy, on the other hand, barely remembered how he ended up in Brighton in the first place. He missed London.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yeah, and what about it?” He spat, cowering back slightly despite his harsh words. “Lookin’ for someone to keep your bed warm?” The man let out a warm chuckle, it sounded nice… comforting. Tommy couldn’t help but look up.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You look about fifteen, so I’m going to go with no.” The man was young, maybe early twenties and had a warm smile to match his laugh. He was tall and a bit gangly, with curly brown hair that fell into his eyes behind round glasses. He had a coat and Tommy was envious. He glared, a shiver racking through him. The man just chuckled again. “I did bring you some hot chocolate, though,” He held out a thermos that Tommy pointedly didn’t take, the man huffed and shook his head.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You seem like a smart kid,” he said, placing the thermos on the ground by Tommy’s feet. Tommy flinched away and the man saw, raising his hands and backing away slowly as if Tommy were a frightened animal that would run at any moment, or worse — and far more likely — attack. “Stay tough, gremlin child,”<br/>
</p>
<p>And with that, he turned and walked away, back across the street and into his flat. Tommy watched him until he disappeared behind the closing door, only then taking his eyes away from the strange man, looking back to where he was once standing.<br/>
</p>
<p>In his place, a bag was laying on the ground, stuffed and seemingly bursting at the zipper. Tommy hesitated for a second before reaching for it. Should he bring it back to the stranger? That was probably what a good person would do, but then, it was a heavy bag and Tommy questioned how the man could leave it without meaning to. Plus, why would he have brought it to walk a few meters away from his front door only to turn right around again. Surely he’d meant Tommy to have it.<br/>
</p>
<p>With that justification, Tommy pulled the zipper loose.<br/>
</p>
<p>Inside was a puffy winter jacket, old, but still better than anything Tommy had owned in years. It was red and didn’t look like the man’s style, maybe that was why he’d left it in the bag for Tommy. Beneath that was a heavy wool blanket and a pair of gloves both looked to be thick and warm. Tommy shook his head. He didn’t know when the last time someone had been so nice to him — maybe it was when his social worker bought him Macca’s after picking him up from the placement before his last. Maybe it had been before he’d been in the system at all.<br/>
</p>
<p>He felt eyes on him, but the street was still as deserted as before. He lifted his eyes to the windows across the way to see a curtain swing shut. He rolled his eyes and assumed it was the man checking to see if he opened the bag and shrugged on the coat before slipping on the gloves. He settled under the blanket for a quick nap before the sun went down, using the empty bag as a pillow. The hot chocolate would be a treat for later.<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>When he’d first found himself out on his own, one of the first homeless people Tommy had met had taken it upon himself to teach him a few things. One thing he’d told Tommy was when the winter months came, sleep in the day and move at night to keep warm, and he’d decided that that night was as good a night as any to get started.<br/>
<br/>
The freezing air nipped at his nose as he walked, arms clutched tight around him. He’d stuffed the blanket back into the bag, along with his old Minecraft backpack, and threw it over his shoulder, in his newly gloved hand he held the thermos, taking small sips as he walked. </p>
<p><br/>
The hot chocolate warmed his stomach in a way he wasn’t used to anymore. It reminded him of childhood; runny noses and snow days, coming in from sledding for his mom to help him hang his soaking clothes before handing him a cup of hot chocolate and ruffling his hair. He swallowed the emotion that came with the memory, he hadn’t cried since he realized there was no point, no one was going to come for him now. </p>
<p><br/>
He was twelve when he learned that. Four years later he had yet to break his tearless streak.</p>
<p>Tommy walked until the sun started to rise, taking a break to watch it paint the horizon pink. Not for the first time he wondered how Tubbo was doing. For months now he’d let himself feel safe in the idea that his best friend had finally found his home, that the family that had fostered them both had fallen in love with Tubbo and decided to keep him, adopt him, raise him as their own. How could they not? Tubbo was perfect, the only question Tommy had had about the situation was why it took so long.<br/>
</p>
<p>Tommy hadn’t been upset when they told him he had to leave, he rarely lasted anywhere more than a month or so, besides, he had been too busy being happy for Tubbo to care about himself. He hoped the other boy was still doing well, still laughing like he always did. That had been a good family, Tommy had faith Tubbo was safe. He’d held onto that faith, let it warm him from the inside out as the nights got colder.<br/>
</p>
<p>Now he had a new jacket he needed it a little less, but it was still a nice picture to hold onto; Tubbo and his family smiling happily for the camera…<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>Wilbur had stood and watched as the kid disappeared down the street, now wrapped in his old winter jacket. The sleeves had been too short for years and he’d been meaning to donate it. He was glad he never got around to it as he watched it bleed into the blackness of the night.<br/>
</p>
<p>The poor kid had seemed petrified when he saw Wilbur approach, all young fearfulness and lost innocence hidden behind a wall of harsh words, but all walls had cracks if you looked hard enough.<br/>
</p>
<p>He had called Phil when he’d first seen the small body curled up across the street from his flat, Phil always knew what to do. In a calm voice he had told Wilbur not to invite the boy in, that he’d scare him off if he came on too strong. He said to give him some blankets and something warm to drink. Even then, as Wilbur was dropping the bag from his shoulder and walking away, the invitation inside had been on the tip of his tongue, the only thing keeping it in was the kid’s wisecrack about Wilbur inviting him into his bed, and Wilbur wanting the kid to stay where he could keep an eye on him.<br/>
</p>
<p>But it looked like he may have been scared away anyway, and before Wilbur even got the chance to feed him.<br/>
</p>
<p>The man had scoured his pantry and fridge for anything he could bring out to the boy, but he hadn’t been to the grocery in far too long and had just eaten his last packet of Ramen for lunch. He had planned on going in the morning and buying extra just for the kid, he had been far too skinny, the old jacket hanging loose on his frame, but fitting his height perfectly.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wilbur sighed and sat down to get his stream ready, he was already late.<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>Wilbur was on his way back from the store when he saw the kid again. He was back curled up beneath the blanket, his head pillowed on a green backpack, seemingly asleep. Wilbur took comfort in the fact that he could see the kid breathing steadily and unlocked his door, making his way into his kitchen to fill his barren shelves.<br/>
</p>
<p>Part of him had hoped he wouldn’t see the kid again, that he had been in some kind of fight with his parents and had run away before deciding the cold was too much and going home, or something like that. But it was obvious he had been out on his own long enough to not have some place to return to. Wilbur’s only solace was that the kid had chosen<em> his </em>street to camp out on, at least then he could keep an eye on him.<br/>
</p>
<p>It was nearing midday when the kid started to stir. Wilbur decided to make soup.<br/>
</p>
<p>Fifteen minutes later he found  himself making his way across the street, bowl in hand, staring down the kid with a purposely lazy smile as the kid glared back.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Why?” He asked when Wilbur set the bowl and a water bottle down on the pavement a few feet from him — he’d learned his lesson after last time and didn’t get too close. He straightened and shrugged.<br/>
</p>
<p>“‘Cuz I didn’t have any food to bring you last night.” He said, as if that answered the question; as if the question was<em> ‘why now’</em> and not <em>‘why do you care at all’.</em> “Anyway I could get that thermos back for a wash?”<br/>
</p>
<p>The kid watched him carefully, blindly digging in his bag for the thermos. Wilbur could see now that it was a Creeper backpack and smiled.<br/>
</p>
<p>“You like Minecraft?” He asked, catching the thermos as it was thrown at him. The kid still glared.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’ve got a lot of time to play it out here on the street.” He said sarcastically. Wilbur laughed and shrugged again.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I like it, probably play it too often but it makes me a living.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“How do you make money off’a Minecraft?” The kid asked, and Wilbur was surprised he’d gotten an answer at all, let alone on that prolonged the conversation. He tapped his fingers against the thermos.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Well, Minecraft and other games. I’m a streamer.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Shouldn’t you be saving your money instead of feeding strays then? As back up for when you crash and burn?” Wilbur couldn’t tell if the kid was joking or seriously trying to be mean. It didn’t matter, he laughed anyway. By the look on the younger man’s face though, Wilbur was pretty sure it was supposed to be mean.<br/>
</p>
<p>“That’s what my dad says.” He quips back. The kid didn’t laugh, but he did fight back a smile so Wilbur counted that as a win and decided it was time to make a tactical retreat. “Enjoy the soup, gremlin child, I’ll see ya later.” He said, turning on his heel. He was halfway across the street when he heard the kid call out again, quieter than before-<br/>
</p>
<p>“Thank you.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wilbur smiled.<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>It was nearing five when Wilbur decided more food was in order. He made a quick cheese toastie and another thermos of hot chocolate — this time with marshmallows he’d gotten that day — and made his way out the door.<br/>
</p>
<p>He smiled when he saw the bowl and plate he’d carried it on nicely stacked just next to his door and huffed out a laugh, maybe the kid would grow to like him yet. He looked across the street to see the kid tucked under the blanket, sleeping once again, and Wilbur wondered if he should be concerned with how much the boy slept, but he supposed he had nothing better to do… He’d ask Phil later.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wilbur approached carefully, not wanting to wake him, and set the food and drink down near his body. He was glad he’d wrapped the sandwich in foil, maybe it would hold in a bit of its heat then. He wanted to reach out and ruffle the kid’s hair, but he knew better, he was obviously still afraid of Wilbur and would need some time to warm up.<br/>
</p>
<p>Wilbur didn’t know how he’d gotten so attached to this kid already, he’d spoken to him twice and had only seen him around for about a day, but there was something about his clever tongue and the steel in his eye. He challenged Wilbur in a way that he found amusing if not endearing.<br/>
</p>
<p>When he got back inside he pulled out his phone to call Phil only to see both him and Techno were already in a call together on Discord. He smiled and joined.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hullo lads,” He said, interrupting Techno as he was talking about something that was most likely boring; the two of them were always boring when Wilbur wasn’t around.<br/>
</p>
<p>“William.” Techno greeted, voice monotone as ever. Wilbur rolled his eyes but smiled, he hadn’t talked to Techno in too long.<br/>
</p>
<p>“What do teenage boys like to do that doesn’t include technology?” He asked, not bothering to waste any time.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Uh… Soccer?” Techno tried. Wilbur shook his head.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Needs to be something he can do on his own.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“You could give him a book,” Phil suggested, finally chiming in. “He obviously hasn’t been attending school, it may help,” Wilbur hummed.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Am I missing something here?” Techno asked, “Am I an uncle?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I’m working on getting a street urchin to like me,” Wilbur said simply, knowing he could probably explain it better but not really bothering to. “He’s a bit prickly. What kind of books do teens like these days?”<br/>
</p>
<p>“I’m going to ask more questions about this later but maybe Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's stone?” Techno suggested. Wilbur snorted and Phil sighed, knowing where this was going.<br/>
</p>
<p>“It’s the<em> Philosopher’s </em>stone you dumb American,” it only decended into chaos from there.<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>Tommy awoke to a sunless sky and a frost deep in his bones. He groaned and rolled onto his knees, stuffing the blanket back into its bag. A glint of metal shone in the moonlight next to him and he narrowed his eyes at it trying to make it out.<br/>
</p>
<p>It was the thermos, but he could have sworn the man took it back…<br/>
</p>
<p>He reached for it slowly, as if him moving too quickly would make it not be true, but yet, the bottle was warm in his palm when he touched it, heavy with liquid when he picked it up. He looked back to where it was to see a foil wrapped square sitting next to it — it had a slight warmth as well but had obviously cooled down from the cold air surrounding it. He sat criss-cross, unwrapping it carefully.<br/>
</p>
<p>A cheese toastie. He smiled. Out of all the foster homes he’d been in, one thing had been a constant and that had been cheese toasties. It was a familiarity, not necessarily happy, but not sad either. Nostalgic and unassuming.<br/>
</p>
<p>Tommy decided he was putting too much thought into the sandwich and ate it quickly, it was a little lukewarm but it was his second meal in one day so he treasured it nonetheless.<br/>
</p>
<p>He began his walk again, looking up to the window he was pretty sure belonged to the man to see the curtain open and a light on inside. It looked… warm. Not like a shelter from the cold outside, but from the darkness and loneliness that had followed him for so long now. He wondered what the man’s name was, why he dressed like a messenger boy from the early 1900’s, and why he cared so much about a bratty street kid like Tommy.<br/>
</p>
<p>Maybe Tommy was wrong, though, maybe he didn’t care, maybe he just didn’t want to deal with the police when they came asking about the kid who froze to death outside of his building. Tommy didn’t let himself hope that the man was just a genuinely good person.<br/>
</p>
<p>Tommy didn’t let himself hope for anything anymore.<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>Only… the meals continued to come, and eventually, Tommy found he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Hope began to grow.<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>The man liked to laugh, Tommy had decided. Even when Tommy wasn’t joking the man would laugh.<br/>
</p>
<p>He had yet to learn his name, yet he’d learned that the quickest way to make him smile was to make a rude remark, letting sarcasm coat his tone. That tone had gotten him hit more times than he could count in his past homes, but the man only smiled as if he found Tommy’s rudeness endearing, and chuckled. Sometimes he’d come back with a snarky remark, but most times he’d just let his laugh fill the empty street, bounce off the building, loud and joyously.<br/>
</p>
<p>One morning Tommy had woken up to a book sitting next to him. On the inside page in messy handwriting was a small note: <em>My friend calls this Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's stone (he’s a dirty american).</em> Tommy had laughed at that even if he didn’t completely understand it and spent the day reading the book. He was sure most kids wanted to be Harry, being the ‘Chosen One’ and all that, but take away the magic and Tommy already was. He’d prefer to be like Ron, with his six siblings and <em>living </em>parents… 
	</p>
<p>Nights would come and Tommy would carefully tuck the book into his backpack, and then his backpack into the other bag with the blanket, and then he’d walk until the sun rose once again, always with hot chocolate in hand, except for when it was tea. Tommy liked the tea, liked the way it was laden with honey, but he liked the hot chocolate more.<br/>
</p>
<p>In the mornings, the man would come and collect the thermos, never failing to bring it back that night. He’d smiled the first time he saw Tommy reading the book and asked Tommy what house he thought he’d be in. Tommy said Gryffindor, the man nodded and told him he was a Slytherin. Tommy had wrinkled his nose at that and the man had just laughed and told him they’re not as bad as they seem. Tommy thought he looked too much like James Potter to be a Slythern, but he kept that to himself.<br/>
</p>
<p>One night the man reached out to ruffle his hair, only to freeze halfway there and withdraw his hand. Tommy found himself wishing that he hadn’t, he was pretty sure Tubbo was the last person who had touched him kindly and that had to be five months before at least.<br/>
</p>
<p>The next afternoon when he brought him lunch, the man brought a plate for himself as well and they sat together, watching the clouds pass by, heavy with snow.<br/>
</p>
<p>“What’s your name?” Tommy asked, trying to distract himself from the impending storm. The man laughed.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I was wondering when you’d ask.” He said and Tommy crossed his arms.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Well you could have asked too…” He grumbled. The man reached out once again and Tommy could see his physically stopping himself from ruffling. He was a very tactile person, it seemed.<br/>
</p>
<p>“I guess I have to do all the work around here.” He let his arm drop between them. “Wilbur, my name’s Wilbur.” Tommy hummed, not offering his own in return. The man- Wilbur chuckled. “And what’s yours, gremlin child.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Ah, I was wondering when you’d ask.” He snarked, Wilbur laughed harder. “My name is Tommy.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Well it’s nice to officially meet you, Tommy,” Wilbur held out a hand to shake and Tommy took it carefully, but without hesitation.<br/>
</p>
<p>“Odd time to introduce yourself to someone, after you’ve been feeding them for close to a week.”<br/>
</p>
<p>Wilbur hummed and dropped his hand, leaning back against the wall behind them.<br/>
</p>
<p>“As good a time as any, I suppose.”<br/>
</p>
<p>“Not sure that's completely true, big man,” Wilbur just shrugged in response.<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Home, However Temporary</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy disappears and Wilbur worries.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Y'all requested it so I'm back! Also you guys are so sweet with you comments, I defo would have given up on this if it wasn't for them... Anyway, I'm thinking there should be one more chapter in <em>this</em> fic, but I may write more in this universe (defo will right more in general, so give me a follow if you wanna stay updated) <br/>Anyway, enjoy!<br/>CW: major self doubt</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wilbur figured privacy must be a hard thing to come by when you were homeless so he tried not to invade on Tommy’s when he could avoid it. That’s why he didn’t ask Tommy’s name until the kid asked for his. It’s why he still hadn’t asked where he went at night despite the sinking feeling in his stomach every time he watched the kid disappear down the street. It was growing harder though. <br/>
	</p><p>Just like how Wilbur would have to stop himself when he reached out to ruffle the kid’s hair or shake his shoulder, he’d have to consciously hold his tongue when the question sprang forth. He couldn’t help it, he was worried. The kid had grown on him surprisingly quickly, he reminded Wilbur of his step-siblings with his smart mouth and firey glares.  <br/>
	</p><p>It was the day after he’d learned Tommy’s name when Wilbur woke up to an empty street; no one walking their dogs, no cars, and, most noticeably, no Tommy. He texted Phil in a panic asking what to do, the older man didn’t have much helpful advice, he just said to watch and wait.  <br/>
	</p><p>It was one thirty when a red dot appeared at the mouth of the street. Wilbur hadn’t strayed from the window for longer than ten minutes the entire morning, wearing a path in his carpet from pacing. But when he saw Tommy ambling down the pavement he was finally able to tear himself away. He threw on his jacket, not bothering to tie up his boots, the door was left swinging behind him.  <br/>
	</p><p>He ran down the street to where the boy was walking slowly while glumly watching his feet. He looked up as Wilbur approached, alerted by the slamming of his feet on the concrete, a surprised and slightly alarmed look crossed his face just before Wilbur crashed into him. Common sense overrun by relief in seeing the boy safe and breathing, Wilbur wrapped his arms around Tommy without a second thought.  <br/>
	</p><p>Tommy’s arms were pinned between them where they had been crossed over his chest, his back stalk straight, he didn’t pull away from Wilbur, nor did he embrace him in return. He just stood there, frozen.  <br/>
	</p><p>Calmer in the knowledge that Tommy was there, Tommy was alive and unharmed and solid in his arms, Wilbur pulled back, keeping his hands on the younger boy’s shoulders. Tommy continued to look at his shoes and Wilbur noticed how small they looked — they had to be at least a size too small… Wilbur shook his head, putting that thought away for later.  <br/>
	</p><p>“Where the hell have you been? I was worried sick,” Wilbur said, still breathing heavily from his race to get to Tommy. The boy’s eyes snapped up and Wilbur was alarmed to see the normal look of fire in his eyes had dimmed. A small, cowering kid with fear and distrust written all over his features stood before him, a mirror image to the first time Wilbur had met him, expect with a bit more chub on his cheeks and color in his face and… a large bruise forming from his right eye socket all the way down to his jawline. <br/>
	</p><p>“I… What?” Tommy said just as Wilbur was about to reach for his chin and angle his head to get a better look. He sounded genuinely confused, Wilbur decided to explain to him instead of questioning him about the injury.  <br/>
	</p><p>“You’re normally back by morning,” His eyes didn’t leave the bruise, as if if he stared long enough he’d understand why someone would hit a kid they, presumably, didn’t know who obviously didn’t have a dollar to his name. “And this morning-” Tommy cut him off, stepping backward out of his grasp. Wilbur let his hands fall to his sides and hoped he hadn’t gone too far.  <br/>
	</p><p>“Why would you be worried?”  <br/>
	</p><p>Wilbur stopped breathing for a second. He lifted a hand — too quickly if they way Tommy flinched even further back was anything to go by — and ran it through his hair harshly. He felt like pulling it all out.  <br/>
	</p><p>“Tommy what the hell do you mean ‘why would you be worried’? Of course I was worried! I care about you!” He was nearly yelling by the time he finished, his words filling the street. He immediately felt bad for raising his voice at the kid. Tommy crossed an arm over his chest, rubbing his opposite biceps; he looked small and Wilbur was hit once again with how young this kid was.  <br/>
	</p><p>“Why do you care.” He demanded, the steel in his voice completely offset by his meek body language. Wilbur took a deep breath, he didn’t know how he could convince Tommy that Wilbur cared about him, but he did know it would take a <em>long </em>time. He was committed now, though.  <br/>
	</p><p>“Because I decided the moment I saw you sitting across the street that someone had to.” Wilbur took another breath, trying to calm himself. Tommy didn’t look like he believed him, but Wilbur was ready for that. He rubbed a hand across his face. “Listen, Tommy, you’re just a kid, you’re supposed to be inside playing video games and ignoring your homework, not out on your own worrying where your next meal is coming from. If I can help you get that- if I can help you be a <em>kid </em>again,” he shrugged, “I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”  <br/>
	</p><p>Wilbur looked at Tommy again to see the kid staring at him with awe on his face, shifting on his feet awkwardly.  <br/>
	</p><p>“Someone stole your blanket.” Tommy blurted. Wilbur just stared at him, open mouthed, thrown off balance by the abrupt change in subject. When Wilbur didn’t answer, Tommy collapsed in on himself further like a dying star. He started to ramble. “I-I know you lent it to me and I was being careful with it, I swear, but it got really cold as I was walking last night so I wrapped it around me and these two other homeless guys saw me, I guess, and, and they jumped me and one of them hit me. I think they woulda taken the coat and my bags too but a woman came outside and scared them away, I tried to find them to get it back — I swear I did — but I couldn’t find them. That’s why I came back so late, I knew you’d be mad and I wanted to be able to give it back to you with the book and the bag but I couldn’t find them and-”  <br/>
	</p><p>“Tommy,” Wilbur interrupted, his mind was spinning and Tommy was starting to sniffle obviously holding in tears. Wilbur wanted to reach out to him again but held himself back. “Toms, I’m not upset about the blanket. I’m a bit upset that you’d put yourself at risk to get it back but we can talk about that later. The point is, you don’t need to worry about that — as long as you’re safe we’re okay.”  <br/>
	</p><p>Tommy was quiet for a moment, gaze shifting between a point just off Wilbur’s right shoulder and his face. He clutched harshly at his bicep and Wilbur wished he wouldn’t, nearly grabbing his hand once again to stop him. <br/>
	</p><p>“You mean you’re not angry?” Tommy asked, sounding more like a kid than he ever had before. Wilbur shook his head, forcing a smile despite how concerning he found it that Tommy was so worried about Wilbur being upset with him.  <br/>
	</p><p>“Of course not, it’s just a blanket. It was yours anyway, I <em>gave </em>it to you. Just like I<em> gave</em> you the bag and the book.”  <br/>
	</p><p>“Oh…” Wilbur couldn’t help but laugh at that, not the heavy bellied laughter that Tommy normally brought out of him, but Tommy looked happy to see him laugh nonetheless.  <br/>
	</p><p>“Yeah, ‘oh’, you dummy.” He said, taking a step backwards towards his flat, waving Tommy along with him. “Now come on, let’s get inside and get you an ice pack for that bruise before it swells too much.” Wilbur turned, hearing Tommy’s steps stutter and drag behind him. <br/>
	</p><p>“...Inside?” And<em> shit,</em> that wasn’t how Wilbur had planned on asking him to stay. He shrugged and decided to play it off.  <br/>
	</p><p>“Yeah, Toms, I don’t have another blanket that warm. Besides, like you said, it’s getting colder, you can’t stay out on the streets.”  <br/>
	</p><p>“So where am I going to stay?” Tommy sounded worried and Wilbur hoped it wasn’t because he still didn’t trust him. He spun around, walking backward and spreading his arms.  <br/>
	</p><p>“In my spare room, of course. Casa de Wilbur.” He smiled, it still felt forced but slightly less so.  <br/>
	</p><p>“Wilbur, I can’t-” Tommy started. Wilbur waved him off.  <br/>
	</p><p>“Sure you can. I can’t have you freezing or getting beaten to death on my watch.” He paused for a second, realizing that Tommy needed to have a choice in the matter. Wilbur couldn’t force him into moving in. “If you want to, that is, promise I won’t smother you, you can even lock yourself away in your room if you wanna.” Wilbur cut himself off when he realized he was about to start rambling.  <br/>
	</p><p>Tommy stopped in his steps, obviously thinking the matter over. Wilbur would be insulted in how much consideration the kid had to put in while choosing between Wilbur’s warm guestroom and the literal pavement, but he knew it must be hard to trust such a situation as a street kid. Tommy bit his lip, worriedly.  <br/>
	</p><p>“You sure you don’t mind?”  <br/>
	</p><p>“Course not.”  <br/>
	</p><p>Tommy sighed.  <br/>
	</p><p>“You’re spare room it is, then.”  <br/>
	</p><p>This time Wilbur’s smile was real. <br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>“Shoes off at the front door, if you don’t mind,” Wilbur said as Tommy crossed the threshold. The older man was already in the kitchen, digging in the freezer. Tommy stood in the still open doorway, eyes traveling around the room in front of him. <br/>
	</p><p>It was an average flat for a twenty-something year old single man, surprisingly tidy and organized. Though, Tommy should have expected that by how put together Wilbur always seemed — that day had been the first time Tommy had seen him rumbled in a way that wasn’t an obvious style choice. <br/>
	</p><p>The floor was clean and Tommy looked down at his ratty, dusty shoes. They were too small and had holes in the soles, but they were Tommy’s only shoes and he was hesitant to leave them behind. He heard footsteps approaching and looked up to see Wilbur watching him, an icepack in his hand. The older man smiled. <br/>
	</p><p>“You can bring them into your room, if you’d like. Just carry them so you don’t go tracking mud.” Tommy didn’t know how Wilbur always knew the right thing to say. How did he know that Tommy didn’t want to leave his shoes? How did he know that Tommy needed to be reassured that he had a choice earlier? Tommy nodded, shrugging off the questions, and carefully untied his shoes, bringing them with him when he stood. <br/>
	</p><p>Wilbur watched him with a smile on his face, then gestured for him to follow. <br/>
	</p><p>“Come on, I’ll show you the room.” <br/>
	</p><p>Tommy followed in Wilbur’s footsteps, afraid to touch anything outside of his immediate path, listening to the man talk as they made their way down the hall. <br/>
	</p><p>“I don’t have another mattress, but I do have an airbed that you can sleep on until I can have one delivered.” He began to ramble and if Tommy had the time to think about it he would have said the man was nervous. Instead, he was focused on how Wilbur was talking about buying him a bed. <br/>
	</p><p>“I don’t-” he started, “an airbed is fine.” Wilbur sent him a look over his shoulder — one that told Tommy he wasn’t going to take what he’d just said into consideration — but he didn’t argue. Wilbur stopped, opening the door on his right.<br/>
	</p><p>“It used to be my office so there are a few random things here and there, but we can find them a new place.” Did Wilbur move his office for him? Tommy hoped not, he was already such an inconvenience, he didn’t need Wilbur to be making sacrifices for him. <br/>
	“I’m not taking your space, am I?” Tommy asked, concerned. “I can sleep on the couch or-or go back outside.” Wilbur sighed, turning to him and slowly placed a soft hand on his shoulder; it was warm and comforting and Tommy didn’t have it in him to flinch back.<br/>
	</p><p>“Don’t worry about it, Toms, I get better signal in my room anyway.” Wilbur said, his voice soothing. Tommy was pretty sure he was lying, but he didn’t want to push further. Wilbur waved for Tommy to enter the room, leaning against the doorframe after he entered. “Why don’t you put down your stuff and ice your eye for a minute. I’ll get you a towel and some spare clothes so you can shower while I get down the airbed.” <br/>
	</p><p>Tommy nodded, not knowing what else to say, and took the ice pack when Wilbur offered it to him. He dropped his bag to the floor before settling back against the wall and holding the freezing plastic to his face. As he sat he looked around the room with his uncovered eye.<br/>
	</p><p>It was a good sized room, two windows and a closet. There was an empty desk in the corner against one window, weird foam tiles stuck to the wall in front of it, a low, long shelf full of books and knick knacks by the other. A framed photo sat on top of it, but it was too far away for Tommy to make out. In another corner a few boxes were stacked, each labeled clearly, and a few instrument cases were leaning against the wall. Tommy wondered what kind of music Wilbur played. <br/>
	</p><p>A knock came on the open door, drawing Tommy’s attention back to Wilbur. He held a pile of fabric, a lazy smile on his face. <br/>
	</p><p>“I know it’s kinda bare but once we get the junk out and you decorate a bit I’m sure it’ll feel just like home.” He said, looking around the room like Tommy had just been. Tommy’s chest felt tight at his words, his eyes grew foggy for the third time that day but he refused to let the tear form. <br/>
</p><p><em>Home.</em> He hadn’t had a home in awhile. It was nice that Wilbur thought this could be that for Tommy, and maybe it could. Temporarily. But a time would come, probably when the weather warmed up again, when Wilbur would tire of him and his smart mouth, and Tommy would be out on his own again. <br/>
</p><p>Until that moment, however, Tommy would treasure this. <br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>The last time Tommy had a warm shower was at Tubbo’s house. Well… it had been his house at the time, but he’d never let himself believe it. He’d seen how quickly that all could be ripped away, how much more it hurt once you let yourself feel like you were home — like the people who were paid to care of you actually loved you.<br/>
</p><p>Wilbur’s shower was different from Tubbo’s, in place of kiddy no tear shampoo and green apple conditioner was Old Spice body wash and some expensive looking shampoo that Tommy didn’t dare to touch. Instead, he washed his hair with the Old Spice, using as little as possible, and hurried out of the shower. He didn’t want to make Wilburs watcher bill spike. <br/>
</p><p>He shrugged on the old sweater Wilbur had lent him. It was soft and stretched with age — not like the hand-me-downs Tommy had in the past that only had holes and stains to show how many kids had worn them. Once he was dressed he checked to make sure the bathroom was tidy and quietly made his way down the hallway. He stopped to dump his dirty clothes in this room as he passed, seeing an airbed already made up on the floor, and went to find Wilbur. <br/>
</p><p>He heard the man speaking when he reached the end of the hallway, peaking around the corner to see him leaned over the counter in the kitchen, phone in hand. <br/>
</p><p>“Yeah, he’s in the shower now… No, no, I don’t think so…” Tommy wondered who he was talking to. It was obviously about Tommy, maybe it was the police? No, Wilbur wouldn’t feed him all week just to call the cops and have him sent away. His social worker then? <br/>
</p><p>“I’m worried he’s never going to trust me, Phil,” It would be weird to call a random social worker by their first name, right? Wilbur sighed and dropped his head, letting it hang between his shoulders. “He thought I was going to be angry with him because some dicks jumped him.” <br/>
</p><p>Tommy didn’t think he was talking to a social worker, but he did know he probably shouldn’t interrupt Wilbur on the phone. He slowly backed away, attempting to be as quiet as possible, and ran right into the wall behind him. <br/>
</p><p>Wilbur’s head snapped up, his eyes finding Tommy’s instantly. But where Tommy expected to find annoyance or anger, he saw nothing but concern and warmth. <br/>
</p><p>“One sec, Phil,” Wilbur said, pulling the phone away from his ear and raising an eyebrow at Tommy. “You alright there Tommy?” He asked, laughter lacing his tone. Tommy just nodded, opening his mouth to apologize when Wilbur got distracted again by the man on the phone. <br/>
</p><p>“What’s that, Philza?” He asked, holding up a finger to Tommy and mouthing <em>‘one minute’. </em>He lowered the phone, tapping a button. “He wants to say hi,” Wilbur said with a smile, once again talking to Tommy. Tommy took a hesitant step closer, only crossing to the kitchen when Wilbur waved him over encouragingly. <br/>
</p><p>“Tommy, this is Phil, my friend and favorite father figure,” Phil snorted on the phone, “Phil, you know Tommy.” <br/>
</p><p>“Aye. Hey Tommy, nice to finally meet you!” The man said happily. “Wil talks about you all the time.” Tommy frowned at the phone. <br/>
</p><p>“Why?” He asked, before remembering his manners, “I-I mean- nice to meet you too, big man. Of course Wilbur talks about me, I’m fabulous.” Wilbur choked on a chuckle and Tommy looked from the phone to him. He seemed confused by Tommy’s change in behavior — if the wrinkle in his brow was anything to go by — but he was laughing nonetheless so Tommy considered that a win. Phil laughed on the phone as well. <br/>
</p><p>“I’m sure.” He said, his voice was warm and friendly, as if he and Tommy were old friends . “And as for your first question: Wil likes to come to me for advice,” he paused for a second, “I think he thinks I’m his dad,” Phil went on, his voice dropping to a whisper as if he were telling Tommy a secret. <br/>
</p><p>“Oi, I’m still here,” Wilbur said, but there was no heat behind his words. <br/>
</p><p>Tommy didn’t know how to feel about Wilbur going to other people for advice on him; on one hand, he was touched that the man cared enough to go to his friends for help. But on the other, advice was something you requested when you had a problem that needed solving. <br/>
</p><p>“Are you? I’m surprised, you can’t normally keep quiet for that long.” Phil said, pulling Tommy out from his spiraling thoughts. <br/>
</p><p>“You’re mean when Tommy’s here, I’m hanging up now.” Wilbur reached for the end button as Phil laughed, but didn’t press it until after the other man spoke again. <br/>
</p><p>“Bye Tommy, nice to meet you! Love you, Wil,” Wilbur let out an exaggerated sigh. <br/>
</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, love you too,” He said, then he hit the end call button. “So, that was Phil,” Wilbur said, his attention now fully on Tommy. Tommy nodded.<br/>
</p><p>“He seems nice,” Wilbur smiled softly. <br/>
</p><p>“He is. I’ll show you some of his videos later. For now, what do you want for lunch?” Tommy shrugged. <br/>
</p><p>“Whatever’s easy, I don’t want to cause you too much trouble…” He said, looking down at the phone that was still on the counter, only to look up again when Wilbur sighed. <br/>
</p><p>“You’re not, Tommy. I offered.”<br/>
</p><p>Tommy nodded, but as Wilbur set about making them lunch, denying Tommy’s offers to help, the boy couldn’t have felt more like a burden. Then, Wilbur would laugh and the weight on his chest would lessen.  <br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Toms and Wil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>*shrugs* you're here already, may as well read :)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Last chapter!!! For this fic at least. Like I said before, I have a few more ideas for fics in this universe BUT if there's anything specific that y'all would like to read/for me to include let me know in the comments, I'd love to hear your ideas :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wilbur had only cleaned his spare room the night before, his computer and streaming stuff still sitting un-setup on the desk in his bedroom. But he wasn’t going to tell Tommy that. Just like he wasn’t going to mention that the room felt ten times more crowded when he went in to fetch the spare sheets from his closet.<br/>
</p><p>The bed was set up quickly and, before he knew it, he was on the phone with Phil, asking for reassurance. Reassurance came — of course it did it was Phil he was talking to — a moment before Tommy reappeared. Wilbur was surprised to see him so soon, but that surprise was overshadowed by amusement when the kid ran straight into the wall.  <br/>
</p><p>They ate lunch in front of Wibur’s laptop, Wilbur showing Tommy video after video of Phil and his other friends. Tommy laughed the hardest at Techno and Wilbur made a note to introduce them soon. <br/>
</p><p>“So you do this too?” Tommy asked as another video loaded up. They had long since finished their food and were now sprawled back on the couch, their shoulders almost touching, the computer sitting between them. Wilbur could feel the heat coming off the kid, and if it wasn’t for that, he didn’t think he’d <em>quite</em> believe that Tommy was, in fact, in his flat as that moment, watching and laughing at stupid videos with him. <br/>
</p><p>Wilbur nodded. <br/>
</p><p>“Yeah, but most of us do non-Minecraft related streams too.” 
</p><p>“I haven’t played Minecraft in <em>ages.” </em>Tommy said, eyes as wide as saucers as a new video started on screen. Wilbur hummed but didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to remember if he had it downloaded on his laptop. He was sure he did.  <br/>
</p><p>“Wanna play now?” He offered. Tommy’s head snapped to face him so quickly Wilbur worried for his neck.  <br/>
</p><p>“I… You mean it?” He said, voice full of disbelief and wonder. Wilbur didn’t try and fight back his smile.  <br/>
</p><p>“Yeah, you can play while I set up my PC and then I can join you,”  <br/>
</p><p>Tommy nodded enthusiastically, so much so that Wilbur once again feared for his neck, so the man grabbed his laptop and Tommy’s wrist and pulled him both up. He tried to ignore how skinny Tommy’s wrist felt in his hands, knowing there was nothing he could do other than feed him and wait. He dropped the boy’s wrist, not wanting to drag him, and instead gestured for him to follow Wilbur down the hall to where his desktop sat in a tangle of wires.  <br/>
</p><p>When they reached Wilbur’s room he told the kid to sit, rolling his eyes when he saw him sit on the floor with his back against the bed.  <br/>
</p><p>“You can sit on the bed if you want,” Wilbur said offhandedly as he opened his laptop and searched for Minecraft. He saw Tommy draw his knees up to his chest in the corner of his vision.  <br/>
</p><p>“I prefer it this way.” He said and Wilbur snorted unbelievingly. In the short, short time Tommy had been there Wilbur had already noticed how the kid tried to make himself as small and unassuming as possible, touching nothing if he didn’t need to, curling up to take up as little space as he could with his gangly frame. It was going to be something they had to work on, but Wilbur decided to let it slide temporarily.  <br/>
</p><p>“Sure,” He said, handing the laptop to Tommy as it loaded up. “Let me know if you need anything.” Then he set to work on the mess that covered his desk.  <br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>It didn’t take long for Wilbur to get his set up ready and not too long later the two found themselves trying to survive a new world together. They played late into the evening, Tommy coming out of his shell considerably as he screamed at his screen, Wilbur would only laugh — ignoring concerns about his neighbors — until it was his turn to rage. Tommy would laugh right back, a sassy remark of ‘not so funny now, is it, big man?’ on his tongue and Wilbur would playfully glare at him over his shoulder.  <br/>
	</p><p>They took a break for dinner, this time sitting at the actual table instead of on the couch, joking around like old friends. <em>‘Or brothers,’ </em>Wilbur found himself thinking, but he pushed it from his mind, they’d only known each other for a week, he didn’t need to be getting attached to much too fast. <br/>
	</p><p>“I’m supposed to stream tonight,” Wilbur said after their latest bout of laughter, he watched Tommy closely, curious to see what his reaction would be. “But I don’t want you to get bored so I can skip if you’d like.” Tommy’s eyes went wide.  <br/>
	</p><p>“Can I watch?” He asked, excitedly. Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows.  <br/>
	</p><p>“Uh…” He muttered, thinking about it, then shrugged. “I don’t see why not. You’ll have to be quiet though and you may get bored.” Tommy shook his head fervently and bolted up, waving Wilbur away. <br/>
</p><p>“No way. You go get ready, I’ll do the dishes.” He said, stacking the plates and carrying them over to the sink. Wilbur watched him, a laugh on his lips.  <br/>
</p><p>“I can help clean up-” He argued, standing to go collect the dirty dishes from where they’d left them on the coffee table earlier, only to see Tommy dart past him.  <br/>
</p><p>“Nope, you cooked. Go set up, I’m sure it’ll take ages, old man.” He didn’t even look at Wilbur, focusing completely on collecting the dishes and tidying up. Wilbur narrowed his eyes at him.  <br/>
</p><p>“I’m twenty-four, and it won't take long, but if you insist-”  <br/>
</p><p>“I do,” Tommy cut off again, grabbing Wilbur by the shoulders and pushing him towards the hallway. It was the first time Tommy had touched him and Wilbur was too stunned to say another word in argument.  <br/>
</p><p>He went to his room, starting up his streaming software. He didn’t know why Tommy was so excited to watch and he was sure the kid would get bored not fifteen minutes in — he hadn’t known Tommy long but he’d already seen how much he liked to talk — so he decided he’d need something to distract him with when the time came. He looked up and saw the second Harry Potter book sitting on his shelf and got up to grab it and a pen. He didn’t know why he had written a note in the first one he’d given Tommy, but now it felt like it was going to become a tradition.  <br/>
</p><p><em>‘For when you inevitably get bored, Gremlin Child,’ </em>He scribbled messily, dating it before closing it and dropping it on the bed behind him. He sighed and sat back in his desk chair. <br/>
</p><p>He had a feeling this was going to be a long steam.  <br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>Tommy wouldn’t say he was <em>bored, </em>just antsy. Wilbur had been playing Geoguesser for twenty minutes and he was finding it harder and harder to be quiet instead of teasing the man every time he got it wrong. <br/>
	</p><p>It was nice to see Wilbur acting the same on stream as he did around Tommy — if not a little more chaotic as he played up his reactions for the chat — it made Tommy feel as though he actually <em>knew</em> Wilbur, like he wasn’t just some kid the man was nice enough to bring in off the streets. <br/>
	</p><p>Tommy held in a laugh when Wilbur groaned, throwing himself back in his chair. Wilbur must have heard him stifle it because he looked over his shoulder to glare at Tommy where he sat on the floor. When he saw Tommy shaking his leg anxiously and playing with his own fingers he rolled his eyes. <br/>
	</p><p>“One minute chat,” Wilbur said, leaning forward to mute himself. He looked back at Tommy again. “You bored? I can put up the waiting screen if you wanna duck out,” He offered. Tommy felt himself growing oddly panicked at the idea of leaving the room without Wilbur. He didn’t know what it was, maybe it would just be weird to wander around the man’s flat without him? Maybe in the week since he’d met Wilbur he’d grown a dependency on his calming presence and teasing words.<br/>
	</p><p>He shook his head frantically, still not wanting to speak despite the microphone not being on and Wilbur tilted his head a furrow forming in his brow. <br/>
	</p><p>“O-kay,” He said, Tommy hoped he didn’t find his hesitance to leave him weird or uncomfortable. If that was the case he’d find himself out on the street again much sooner than expected. Wilbur reached for something on his desk, grabbing it and tossing it back toward Tommy, it landed next to his thigh with a <em>thump</em>. He looked down to see the next Harry Potter book laying there. He smiled. <br/>
	</p><p>“Thank you,” Tommy whispered. Wilbur shook his head but smiled. <br/>
	</p><p>“Couldn’t even make it thirty minutes,” He teased with faux disappointment, clicking his tongue. “Now shush, I’m working,” <br/>
	</p><p>Wilbur unmuted, staring at his screen for a moment instead of starting a new game, then he laughed. <br/>
	</p><p>“A friend of mine wanted to watch me stream but now he’s bored. Some <em>friend</em>.” He watched a bit longer, then shook his head. “No, he’s not going to come say hi. Unless…” Wilbur turned back to Tommy, “You wanna say hi? You can stay there, no need to be on camera,” Tommy shrugged, the panic in his chest had already calmed considerably now that he was staying sat on the floor in Wilbur’s room while the man worked. <br/>
	</p><p>“Hi Wilbur’s chat!” He said excitedly, putting on an energetic voice like he’d heard many of the streamers Wilbur showed him earlier do. Wilbur smiled at him softly. <br/>
	</p><p>“Good, now stop trying to steal my viewers.” Tommy rolled his eyes and cracked open the book, letting Wilbur’s voice fade into background noise. <br/>
	</p><p>And for the first time since his social worker dropped him off at his last placement, he let himself feel safe.<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>“Tommy…” There was a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “Come one, bud, time to get you to bed,” Tommy opened his eyes to see Wilbur crouching in front of him, only then did he realize he’d fallen asleep on the floor while Wilbur was streaming. The book sat open on his lap, his head had been lolled back against the wall, his neck hurting slightly. <br/>
	</p><p>He lifted a fist and rubbed at his eye. <br/>
	</p><p>“Sorry, I didn’ mean ta-'' He slurred, voice heavy with sleep. Wilbur waved off the apology. <br/>
	</p><p>“Don’t worry. Let’s just get your teeth brushed and get you in bed.” Tommy tried to remember the last time someone reminded him to brush his teeth. It may have been Tubbo, but Tommy was pretty sure it was his first foster family — they had been good, but eleven year old Tommy had been too rowdy for them, he hadn’t understood when they sent him away, but after years of being told that he was too excitable, too loud, too <em>much,</em> he realized he was the only reason he kept getting given back. <br/>
	</p><p>“Okay.” He said quietly instead of letting himself fall deeper into his thoughts.<br/>
	</p><p>He let Wilbur help him up and followed him down the hallway, taking the toothbrush when it was handed to him. Wilbur left then, saying he’d go make sure the room was ready. Tommy found him in the hallway, patiently leaned against the wall as he waited on Tommy to finish. He handed Tommy the book again and they walked together to Tommy’s room in silence.<br/>
	</p><p>Wilbur stopped at the door when Tommy entered, his hands in his pockets. <br/>
	</p><p>“Well, you know where to find me if you need anything. I’ll be streaming for a little longer, so just knock before you come in,” Tommy looked up at him, eyes wide.<br/>
	</p><p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were still streaming, I didn’t mean to distract you! I-” He clutched the book to his chest. Wilbur chuckled, not unkindly. <br/>
	</p><p>“I told you not to worry, Toms, the views can wait.” Wilbur assured and Tommy nodded. He looked at his feet then back up at Wilbur. The man had hugged him earlier, Tommy wondered if he’d mind if Tommy did it again. “Well, goodnight then,” Wilbur said, starting to turn. <br/>
	</p><p>“Wait,” Tommy set the book on the floor carefully, before springing forward and wrapping his arms around the older man, accidentally pinning Wilbur’s arms to his sides as his hands were still in his pockets. Wilbur stood frozen for a second before huffing out an amused, maybe slightly surprised, laugh. He wiggled slightly, slipping his arms loose, wrapping them around Tommy when he didn’t pull away. <br/>
	</p><p>“Thank you, Wil,” Tommy said, his voice slightly muffled by Wilbur’s sweater. Wilbur didn’t answer for a moment, just hugged Tommy tighter, resting his chin on the boy’s shoulder.<br/>
	</p><p>“Whatever, kid,” Wilbur said quietly. He gave Tommy one last squeeze then pulled away, ruffling his hair. “Sleep well,” He smiled and turned, this time Tommy let him go. <br/>
	</p><p>Tommy shut the door, bending down to pick up the book. He walked over to where the first book sat safely on the otherwise empty desk and placed the second on top of it. He opened it one more time, fingers careful not to wrinkle the pages, and turned to where Wilbur wrote on the first page. <br/>
	</p><p><em>’For when you inevitably get bored,’</em> Tommy wondered how the man knew him so well already, he wasn’t even his foster parent and he’d already put in more effort into <em>really</em> knowing Tommy than most families had in the past. Tommy smiled and ran his fingers over the messy writing, then closed to book and walked to the bed. Wilbur had pulled the blankets back and Tommy almost laughed. Instead, his smile turned sad as he shook his head — he didn’t want to let himself get used to this. Already he knew that this time it was really going to hurt when he had to leave, he should nip these feelings of comfort and care in the bud before he let himself get too far. He decided that was a problem for tomorrow.<br/>
	</p><p>Instead, as he fell asleep he let himself pretend, just for a moment, that for the first time in five years —<br/>
</p><p>He was home. <br/>
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  <p>*****</p>
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